


Safety in the Backstreets

by Leticheecopae



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Flirting, Gen, Mild Violence Mentioned, friendship building, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leticheecopae/pseuds/Leticheecopae
Summary: After a botched assassination attempt on both Alistair and Warden Amell, the party splits up for safety's sake, and Alistair ends up in the backstreets of Denarim with Zevran. It's a far cry from what Alistair is used to, but Zevran assures him it's safe. At least from assassins, but maybe not Zevran's flirting.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catharticEscapism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catharticEscapism/gifts).



> A fun commission for a game I really need to get into more. I really loved researching these characters and playing snippets of the game to get to know them.

“I swear I am going to cut off your arm if you touch me one more time,” Alistair snarls. Zevran can’t do much more than smirk though he does remove the offending appendage from Alistair’s vicinity. They are somewhere in the back alleys of Denerim, not that Alistair knows much about them. He’s never been past the cobbled or well-packed streets of the city, where the shops are deemed at least mostly trustworthy and the food is made out of actual cattle.

 

Where Zevran has brought him, Alistair would be lucky if the loose muck he’s stumbling through is actually mud and not raw sewage. Seeing a man relieving himself against a wall a few paces ahead does little to comfort him. Zevran doesn’t seem to care as they walk through the backstreets, Alistair stumbling next to him like the many drunks that are attempting to stumble home or find a rain barrel to sleep in. Alistair’s awkward stride has nothing to do with soporifics of any sort, however, though he would gladly take part in a tankard if it were offered. A good pint of anything would be helpful for the pain that is racing up his leg.

 

“Must we really do this?” he snarls as another man stumbles and knocks into his bad leg. The gash has been poorly stitched, and while Morrigan had provided a weak spell to keep it from bleeding, the need to get Alistair hidden had been more important than fully setting the wound.

 

“Well, you and the Warden aren’t safe in the nicer parts of the city, as was proven this evening,” Zevran chuckles.

 

“I’m so glad that you find the botched assassination attempts Warden Amell and myself humorous.”

 

“Oh, come now, you and the Warden Amell are fine. And you know what they say, tragedy plus time equals humor.”

 

“Do they? Because if so, I don’t think there’s been enough time since the actual attempt!” His yell causes a nearby prostitute to look over.

 

Zevran throws an arm around his shoulder, makes them both lean forwards, and then he lets out a large laugh.

 

“What are you doing!” Alistair hisses as he tries not to fall over.

 

“Making it look like you’re a drunk,” Zevran murmurs back. “We’re out here to try and hide you, not make you a larger target, and having you scream about a botched attack is one of the best ways to get you noticed down here. Now, talking about attacking, that’s a different story.”

 

Alistair bites his tongue as Zevran lets out another laugh and makes the two of them stumble again. Despite the act, Zevran does manage to keep Alistair up with a hand on his chest and an arm around his upper body.

 

“Are we almost there?” Alistair grumbles as they go around a corner.

 

“Almost,” Zevran replies as he straightens.

 

“Where are we going anyways?”

 

“A place where I know I can keep you safe.”

 

“How is there any place out here that could keep me safe? Isn’t this where all of the killers and assassins congregate in the first place?” He manages to keep his voice down this time, even if he does want to snarl and yell.

 

“Yes, but when the asp is out and about, what is safer than the asps nest?”

 

“How does that make any sense to you?”

 

Zevran gives a chuckle but doesn’t respond.

 

Alistair grits his teeth and pulls away from the elf, though he keeps following him. The constant pain in his leg is a reminder of the insane evening he and his group have had. They had come back from another task, everyone tired and ready to sleep for a few hours before they would need to head off again. He had been asleep for maybe two or three hours when his would-be assassin had gotten caught on the window curtains of his rented room and fallen hard enough to wake him. Unfortunately, the fall had not been hard enough to put the assassin out of commission.

 

While battling with a sheet that had wrapped around him, Alistair had been slashed across the leg. While it had done damage, it had also freed him and gave him the chance to get away and grab his sword. The second he had gotten his hand around the hilt the assassin had gone down. It was shortly after that when Alistair heard the thudding and panic in the adjacent rooms and the yelling of his teammates.

 

When it had become clear that they had been compromised, they had decided to split up. Morrigan had taken the Warden to one side of the city while Zevran had taken Alistair the other. Alistair hopes that Morrigan is doing her best to keep Warden Amell safe instead of trying to worm her way into his pants. At least he hadn’t gotten harmed in the attack; Alistair’s assassin had given the others away before any more damage could be done.

 

“Alistair, we’re here.”

 

Alistair jerks to a stop, the frown on his face turning into one of confusion.

 

Zevran gives him an odd look with his head cocked gently to the side. “Are you alright?”

 

Alistair can’t help but glare at him. “What do you think?”

 

“You’re fine,” Zevran responds as he opens the door to the building.

 

Alistair looks at the structure and can’t help but sneer. “Really?” The building is old, probably a part of one of the first building projects in the city, and it shows. The wood and stone is chipped and cracked, the windows are made with extremely bubbled and cracked glass with missing panes that are filled in with brown paper, and the smell that permeates from it tells Alistair that he is standing before a house of sin.

 

“A brothel? You’ve brought me to a brothel?”

 

“What safer haven than one that can literally bring you to its bosom?”

 

Alistair rolls his eyes but follows him inside. They are immediately greeted with the drone of music being played by a lone man in the corner strumming at the strings of an old lute. Around them, the women walk between tables, many of them with some of their goods on display as they try to entice their next patron to a bedroom. From the looks of it, there aren’t all that many left who haven’t passed out at the tables.

 

“Zevren!” The elf’s name is shouted from across the room, and Alistair watches as a rather plump woman works her way from behind the bar and towards him. She is an older woman, probably in her early forties, though the makeup on her face tries to hide it.

 

“Lyssa, it’s been too lo-”

 

The slap across Zevren’s face doesn’t surprise Alistair, but it does seem to surprise Zevren who stands stunned.

 

“What did I tell you about leaving me in suspense about your well bein’? You best be glad I don’t yank down those trousers of yours and beat you silly like when you were a tyke. Leaving me here guessing if you’re alive or dead. For all I known the crows took you again.”

 

“Has it really been that long since I stopped by?” Zevran asks as he rubs his cheek.

 

Lyssa’s response is to cross her arms and give him a glare that seems much more maternal than anything Alistair had expected.

 

“Well, if you say it has, then it has.”

 

“You’re right it has, but now that I know you’re alive and well, it’s time to celebrate a bit.”

 

“I wish I could,” Zevran sighs, and Alistair can hear actual sadness in his voice. “But I’ve got a hurt friend in need of a room. Any way we could rent one for the night and buy some medical supplies?”

 

Lyssa looks back at Alistair, then at his bloody pant leg, and frowns.

 

“What kind of rough’ousin has he been getting you into?”

 

Alistair goes to open his mouth only for her to raise a hand and stop him. “Forget it. I don’ want ta hear it.” She grabs a ring of keys on her hip and goes through it, searching for one until she pulls off an older, rusty looking key.

 

“Fraid I only have things on the upper floors for tonight, think you can get him up there okay?”

 

“I’m sure I can,” Zevran replies.

 

“Alright. And I do hope you have enough to cover your bill this time. Adaylia was not happy when you left last time. You still owe her a good bit of coin.”

 

“And here I thought she had laid with me out of the goodness of her heart,” he sighs before grinning. “Don’t worry, I have plenty to pay her back this time and for all my debts I accrue this time around. I’m doing work now that even you would be proud of.”

 

Lyssa sniffs. “If you come in ‘ere looking like that, then I doubt it.”

 

Zevren gives the woman a hug, takes the key, and turns back the Alistair. “Shall we?”

 

Alistair nods before looking at Lyssa. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

 

“Least he has manners,” she murmurs as they head past her.

 

“Who was that?”

 

“An old family friend,” Zevran replies with a smirk.

 

“What, does she have one of your illegitimate offspring running about?”

 

Zevran actually seems to balk at the idea. “Lyssa is more like a mother to me than anything else, and as much as I pride myself on being open minded, I am not that open.”

 

“And Adaylia?”

 

Zevran gives a smirk. “What? She is more like a distant cousin.”

 

Alistair gives him a slight sneer as he is lead to the stairs. Just looking at them tells him he’s going to be up for a challenge; three steps up and he's sure of it. The steep, old steps that sound like they will snap at any moment are much harder to traverse than the muddy corridors outside and he has to relent and allow Zevran to help him up.

 

“Couldn’t have been a first-floor room open…” he grumbles as they finally stumble into the designated room and he falls into an open chair. It’s cushioned at least, and he lets himself sink into it.

 

“Believe me, you wouldn’t want it. Most of those are the ‘entertaining rooms’, and with how much you like to stay clean, I doubt you would be able to do much more than stand for fear of what has been done on those beds.”

 

“I’ve been splattered with the blood of a dark-spawn brood mother, I doubt there is much on them that I couldn’t deal with now.”

 

“You really have not laid with a woman if you do not know what kind of mess can be made of the linens; or other furniture for that matter.” He smirks at Alistair.

 

Alistair sits up some, the chair no longer feeling quite as comfortable.

 

“Uhhh…”

 

“Do not worry. If anything has happened in that particular spot, Lyssa would make sure it got a good scrubbing after. This place may be full of holes, but there are no holes when it comes to her reign over this brothel. Even as a working girl, she never let a single thing go unkempt in her workroom.”

 

“You mean bedroom, right?”

 

“For them, there is no difference,” Zevran replies with a shrug. “Though Maker protect whoever disrespects one of her rooms and then denies payment.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve seen it first hand.”

 

“As a child, I saw Lyssa take out men with nothing but her fist and her thighs.”

 

“Sounds like more than a child should see.”

 

Zevran laughs. “Maybe so, but I never had lack of love. Lyssa wasn’t my only mother.”

 

“But..” Alistair gives pause as he looks at Zevran. “I thought you were born in Antiva.”

 

“I was.”

 

“Then did you grow up here for a time?”

 

Zevran blinks a bit in confusion. “No, I- Oh, I see why you are confused. No, I never grew up here, but Lyssa is from here if my memory is correct. She lived in Antiva for a time as a wealthy mistress, until the bastard who was supporting her left her to rot on the streets. She ended up in the same brothel as my mother. She ended up coming back here once she was able and married the owner of this brothel. He died a few years back, but under Lyssa, it has grown.”

 

“Can I assume you were born in such a place as this then?”

 

“Yes, though assuming is all you’ll be able to do.” The smirk he gives this time looks a bit sad, though Alistair gets little chance to study it. A knock comes on the door and Zevran opens it. A young woman, her bosom on display, is holding a bucket filled with steaming water and a cloth with a large platter balanced in the other.

 

“Adaylia, you look-”

 

“No using that silver tongue of yours until you pay your bill from last time,” Adaylia cuts in as she shoves the bucket and platter at him.

 

“Oh, but I have so many things I wish to say to all parts of you.” Zevran takes the items and sets them on the side table by the door.

 

“And they will be silenced until I have the gold you owe me in my palm,” she sniffs.

 

“And you will, I promise on my companion's life.”

 

“Hey!” Alistair calls out as he watches Zevran pull out his coin purse.

 

Zevran gives a laugh as he takes out a smattering of coins and drops them into her open hand. “I do assume that this will cover everything?”

 

Adaylia counts the coins, bites a couple and then nods. She then looks between Alistair and Zevran. “It’ll be extra if he joins you know.”

 

Alistair feels his face heat. “I-I would never-!”

 

“You’d never what?” Adaylia snaps at him, her arms crossed.

 

“Lay with another besides me, of course,” Zevran replies. “Well, maybe his wife.”

 

Alistair feels himself choke on his tongue for a moment.

 

“And here I thought you came to see me,” she pouts, hands going to tug at Zevran’s shirt a little.

 

“Ah, how the gold melts your anger. I’ll bring you more later.” He leans in to give her a peck, but Adaylia is already gone. He shuts the door behind her.

 

“How dare you say I am here committing adultery!” Alistair snaps when he finds his voice.

 

“What? Would you rather the whole house know that you are a grey warden and are on the run for your life?” Zevran picks up the bucket and platter of medical supplies and goes towards the chair. “Or would you prefer the guise of spending the night with myself and let them come up with other idiocies to explain away your leg?”

 

Alistair gapes at him before stealing himself. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he grumbles.

 

“Possibly.” Zevran comes to kneel before him. “Now, please, remove your pants.”

 

“Not when you’re positioned like that!”

 

“But I have already sat down? You don’t really want to make me get up after that long trek to get here?”

 

Alistair’s tongue debates on a comeback before he just closes it and stands. He jerks at his belt, eyes locked on Zevran’s. Zevran’s face is at waist height and Alistair almost catches the elf’s chin with his belt as he unbuckles it. Quickly, he shoves his pants down and then flops back into the chair with his tunic hiding his groin.

 

“My, that was quick.” Zevran starts removing Alistair’s shoes so that he can take his pants off fully.

 

“Isn’t that how you like it?” Alistair is caught off guard by his own quip, though the look on Zevran’s face lets him know he is even more so, though his smirk quickly returns.

 

“You do not know me well then, my friend.” He finishes removing the clothing before he takes out a cloth from the bucket full of hot water and goes to start cleaning the poorly stitched up gash on Alistair's leg. Alistair gives a hiss but does his best not to jerk away. The cut looks bad, that’s for sure, and the mild magic that Morrigan had done is wearing off fast.

 

“Well, in this instance, I would greatly appreciate it if you go as quickly as possible. We haven’t any liquor and I can’t say that this is at all pleasurable.”

 

Zevran gives a laugh and looks up at him. “I could get us some, though whatever would happen after I can not say.”

 

“You could bath me in olives and rose water for all I care, but if I don’t get something to numb the pain soon, I will not be a happy bedmate for the night.” He grits his teeth as Zevran quickly removes the poorly done stitches and cleans the wound again.

 

“Bedmate?” Zevran actually looks up at him with a slight amount of confusion.

 

“As horrible as this night has been, it’s not like I haven’t noticed how hard you’ve been working to keep me from being killed. I’m not about to make you sleep on the floor.”

 

Zevran gives a grin and goes to open his mouth only for Alistair to cut in.

 

“But if I find your hands anywhere they shouldn’t be, I will.”

 

“Fair enough, fair enough,” he replies as he quickly and efficiently goes about stitching up the wound. “Though, I must ask, were you serious about letting me possibly prep you for a tattoo? If so I’ll go down and grab us some of Lyssa’s best stock.”

 

Alistair sighs. “I’m not even going to acknowledge that with a response.”

 

“But you just did.”

 

“Forget about the booze and keep stitching.”

 

Zevran laughs but does as he is told. They sit in a comfortable silence as Zevran focuses on his work and Alistair does his best not to make a sound. When it gets down the bandaging, Alistair can’t help but start to doze off, his head dropping and his chin hitting his chest. All of the adrenaline had left his body hours ago, and after the trek through the back alley, all he wants to do is sleep.

 

“I guess we’ll be waiting on the rose water until tomorrow,” Zevran says as he gets up.

 

Alistair grunts a response as Zevran helps him out of the chair and over to the bed. Zevran helps Alistair remove the last of his armor, his hands respectful, though he does make a comment here and there about the scars and flesh that he uncovers.

 

“That looks like it came from a wild night,” he says as he taps the top of a scar that pokes out from Alistair’s tunic. It ends just below the nape of his neck.

 

“I wish,” Alistair grunts before climbing into the generously sized bed.

 

“Tell me about it sometime?” Zevran asks as he pulls off his own items, undressing just a little more than Alistair himself.

 

“Only if you tell me more about Lyssa and your other ‘mothers’.” It comes out as a mumble, Alistair’s eyes already closed.

 

There is a beat of silence, the only sound being that of distance music from the first floor and a few groans here and there through the walls.

 

“Do I hear a touch of interest?”

 

“Shut up and get in here before I change my mind.”

 

Zevran’s chuckle is the last thing Alistair hears before the bed dips, a shimmer of heat appears at his side, and his brain decides it’s finally time to shut down for the night.


End file.
